


Value

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Series: Nadadel [11]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Arguments, Big Brothers, Gen, Heirlooms, Hugs, Little Brothers, Making Friends, Neoma's Last Chapter For A While, craft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains





	Value

He can't stop drawing. Óin is getting rather irritated because paper supposedly costs a lot of money and he keeps crumpling up used pages, but it's like he is addicted to finding the perfect drawing.

"Nadadith," says his nadad rather wearily one evening when his brother sneaks downstairs to dispose of another paper. "If that turns out to be another piece of paper, I'll make you write a twelve-page essay on why it is wrong to waste paper."

"I just won't do it." Glóin says.

Óin rubs his forehead. "Why all these sketches? You're like a Dwarf possessed."

Glóin is about to tentatively explain how _really_ it is all Neoma's fault, when his brother snorts with laughter. "It's like you're down with courting fever!"

He stiffens. "Is it really funny?"

Óin smiles. "You're too young for things like this! It's just infatuation."

Glóin presses his lips together and glares. "It's not!"

"You're only 62. It's normal to get crushes at your age-"

 _"It's not a crush!!"_ Glóin snaps and he throws the balled up piece of paper at his sibling and storms out of the house, only stopping to grab his boots.

Once he is sufficiently far away, he stuffs his feet into his boots and walks about the empty streets, muttering and grumbling angrily about big brothers in general and how they don't listen and think they're so clever and how his is just jealous because his beard is nearly long as his already. He glares at the ground, kicking pebbles and doesn't look up until he bumps into someone.

"Whoops!" The stranger steadies him and looks down at him. "Don't forget the positive things about looking up once in a while."

Glóin glowers up at him. "Maybe you should've gotten out the way!"

"Gods, you're fiery! What's pissed you off?"

"My brother."

The stranger crinkles his nose. Glóin notices his eyes. Bright green and they twinkle with a kind of mischief. "Ah. It's a duty of all brothers to annoy the other. Older or younger?"

"Ancient."

This makes the other Dwarf laugh. "Ancient? Poor fellow.. What did he do to earn such an insult?"

"He doesn't take me seriously. He treats me like a child and I'll be of age in 10 years!"

"Well," says the green-eyed Dwarrow, "That's what elder brothers have a habit of doing, I'm afraid."

Glóin sighs heavily. "He's not right to do it."

"Take it as a compliment." Is the stranger's advice. "He cares about you."

"How do _you_ know?"

There's a pause and the elder Dwarf says, "News travels fast through the village. I know about your father and how it is only you two now."

He is mad. Stark raving mad. It's clear this person made up this answer. The pause said it all. But Glóin nods and pretends he's bought the excuse, because for some reason, he trusts this Dwarf.

"What's your name?" Glóin asks, because he can't keep calling the stranger 'the stranger'.

"I am Fóli. You're...." Fóli pauses again, frowning in thought. "Are you Óin?"

"No, I'm Glóin."

"Ah!"

Glóin ignores the niggling thought that if Fóli knew about Gróin's death, he would surely know that Óin was the elder brother, not him. It must have been a simple mistake.

"So," says Fóli. "Are you going to return to your brother?"

"Oh, I suppose I'll go back. Will I see you by chance again, Fóli?"

"I'm sure you will. I often stay around the tavern with the Dwarves who grow friendlier as they quench their thirst." Fóli lightly nudged him. "Come on, let's get you home safe."

* * *

 

He had been, perhaps, too quick to judge. Once, Grandfather had said that haste, impatience and stubbornness was Durin's Bane, not the Balrog that lived beneath Khazad-dûm. After all, the Balrog hasn't followed Durin and all his descendants as have those traits. He unfolds the paper and gazes at it.

Just a simple square. Inside is a circle. Around the square are arrows with words attached.

'Gold' is crossed out rather roughly. Óin sadly thinks of Erebor's golden halls, the tales he's heard from all his older kin. He gets two gold pieces a fortnight for his wages and even if he scrimped and saved and starved himself to death, he could not buy his sibling enough gold to create a bead.

'Silver' has a question mark next to it, but has a line through it. There are one or two silver mines in Ered Luin, but silver is still expensive, nearly as much as gold.

'Copper'. It would be unnoticeable within the lengths of her copper hair. No wonder this, too, is crossed out.

His brother is serious about this. If this had been mindless infatuation, he would have been going on about crafting her a bead of gold and diamond. Possibly even _míthril_ and diamond. Instead he's thinking about what he can give her.

The door opens and he quickly goes to it, relieved to see his sibling. "Nadadith!" Óin says, grabbing him in a tight hug. "Where did you go?"

"Just walked about."

Glóin isn't angry anymore. He clings to him, nuzzling into his shoulder and lets Óin take his hands between his own and rub them warm. Though April is ending, it is cold, still.

"Why did you take so long to return to me? Anything could happen to you!"

"I met a new friend."

This catches Óin's interest. "Who is this?"

"His name is Fóli. He's actually about your age, I think."

"Oh? Does he have a craft?"

"Didn't ask. But he pointed out that brothers are all idiots, so I decided to forgive you."

The little sod grins at him. Óin pretends to hit him but then hugs him tightly again. "Nadadith.. I'm sorry. Even if it was a crush, I shouldn't have invalidated your feelings."

"I'm sorry I threw the paper at you."

Óin kisses his forehead and smiles as he shuffles closer. "You know, you don't have to make her a bead to court her. Some make their Ones food, or clothing.."

"I can't knit, I can't sew clothes properly and I've never cooked in my life.."

"What about the time you gave Da a plate of cinders. You revealed that it was meant to be toast and looked so proud of your accomplishment that he actually ate it. It turned his beard black!"

Glóin tries to look cross, but he grins at a resurfacing memory. "He didn't want his supper that night, but he gave us the most mournful looks while we had ours that Mammy sent him away!"

"I still can't believe he ate it."

Glóin sobers a bit. "Poor Da. I remember asking him if he liked it and offered to make him more. I still remember the look of horror! He was actually really nice about it. He sat me on his lap and cuddled me and suggested I try another hobby. I don't think I ever tried my hand again..."

"You did. You made Mammy that lumpy custard as a surprise. I think she certainly was surprised!"

Glóin looks worried. "Well, what else can I do? Her parents would end my life if I asked her dress size!"

Óin snorts. "Well... What about pottery?"

Glóin starts laughing until he realises he is serious. "Ah, yes. A wonky pot! She'd love that!"

"Nadadith." Óin says. "You have your whole life to figure out your craft. Once you know what your craft is, you'll know what to make her."

"What if I am a miner?"

"Miners don't earn poor amounts. Da brought home 15 gold pieces a month. It kept us clothed, fed and warm. You could buy silver if you save well."

"Is it hard for you?"

"No, brother. They saved where they could. Da told me where to find funds for emergency use."

"Where?"

"I'm not telling you! You'd take what's left and spend it on sweets."

"I would not!"

Óin grins down at him. "You'd certainly want to buy silver or gold with it. There wasn't enough for that to begin with, I don't think." He thinks for a while. "What about Mammy's jewellery, what she had?"

The thought of taking her precious jewels startles him. "No! It's hers."

Óin gently takes his hand. "Come on. I want to show you something."

* * *

Glóin doesn't realise he's in their parents' room until he recognises the chest of drawers that Óin pulls him to.

Óin feels underneath the chest of drawers and pulls out a simple wooden box, an inch thick and eight inches wide.

The items inside haven't changed. There is the circlet for Durin's Day when Mammy had to become Lady Sannith; made of thin silver now tarnishing from misuse, the small sapphire still glinting softly. There are her garnet earrings, the dark red gems being held in place with copper. The matching copper necklace holds three matching jewels.  
There is her onyx and silver brooch. All Glóin knows about this is that Óin somehow found her the jewels for it.

Last, there are the gold rings that Óin takes out. Da's is very big, very wide, and Mammy's is smaller. Óin holds it to the light, showing him the bright metal on the inside of the ring. There are runes.

_Lïhen. Sannith._

 "That.. That belonged to Nana, too."

"Yes. She pressed it into Da's hand shortly after giving birth to him and Grandfather had it engraved."

"And then she died shortly after." Glóin murmurs, gazing at the name. Lïhen. The woman who resembled his father as much as Óin resembled their mother. She had passed on her flaming red locks to both son and grandson. Glóin touches the soft locks falling about his shoulders.

"Da gave this to Mammy on her wedding day. He wanted her to have the ring his mother once had worn. It was an heirloom from someone he loved that he gave to someone he cherished. There is nothing wrong in doing that yourself."

"What do you want to do when you court?"

Óin looks at the little bright ring shining in his hand. "I don't think I want to court anyone."

"But, one day-"

"No. I don't ever want to court. I'm not the lovey-dovey type."

"You love me."

Óin actually laughs at this. "Nadadith! There's a _world_ of difference between the love I have for you and the love I'd have for a spouse!"

Feeling deflated, Glóin asks, "Would you love your spouse more?"

Óin hugs him gently. "Love is complex. It can destroy and form bonds. But I'd never let anybody take priority over you. Does this answer your question?"

To Glóin's surprise, it does. "I just... I don't want to offer her something very precious immediately. I know these are valuable and you are supposed to offer something of value, preferably of your own making, but they belonged to Mammy. They're too valuable to give as a simple offer."

"You have time." Óin reminds him, holding his face in his hands. "Mister Alrik isn't going to let anyone even attempt to court his daughter until she's at least five years past being of age. That's over a decade you have!"

Glóin manages to smile. "Guess I went a bit mad.."

"What else is new?" Óin asks, grinning rather wickedly. He carefully places the ring back and slides the box under the chest of drawers. He helps him back up and quickly walks back out with him.

"Brother?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm sorry I threw the paper at you."

His brother's darker eyes blink briefly and then he smiles, lightly pressing his head against his. "I forgive you. You little firecracker! But promise me to stop wasting the paper. It really is quite expensive...and I know you stole some of mine!"

Glóin nods guiltily. "Sorry."

He is given another hug and smiles to feel his brother rubbing his cheek against his fiery locks. "Here," says his nadad, pulling back and smiling at him. "Tell me about your new friend, eh?"


End file.
